


The Semi-Fictional Adventures of Spiritkitty and Apostabari

by Anonymous



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Anders writes thirsty fanfiction, Friend Fiction, M/M, Modern Era, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 02:55:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29769639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Everything goes tits up when Garrett finds Anders' collection of smutty fanfiction. Good thing it's anonymous. Right?Right?
Relationships: Anders/Male Hawke
Comments: 5
Kudos: 12
Collections: Nobody Expects the Dragon Age Smutquisition





	The Semi-Fictional Adventures of Spiritkitty and Apostabari

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hollyand](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollyand/gifts).



> Created for Hollyand-writes for the smutquisition exchange.

## Anders

By the time he arrived at the Hanged Man, Garrett was already drunk. In fact, most of them probably were; Isabela and Fenris simply hid it better and Merrill had the wherewithal to stop most nights before she became _too_ tipsy. They’d been coming here whenever the cast managed to be in the same city. Didn’t happen very often anymore, but that was soon to change, the sequel to the Tale of the Champion had just been announced. 

Garrett lifted his beer into the air when he met Anders’ gaze, scooting aside and patting the stool next to him. “Saved you one! Figured you were just running a little slow.”

It was dark, thank the Maker, so they couldn’t see his cheeks turn as red as strawberries. It was a stupid thing; they’d been doing this for nearly three years, but it flooded Anders with warmth to know Garrett had thought of him in more than just passing. 

Anders took the chair next to him, brushing an escaped lock of hair back behind his ear, smiling to himself and breathing deeply. Garrett always smelled so damned _good_. Metallic, like the air before a thunderstorm, but with an underlying musk that sent Anders’ heart racing. He’d managed to snag one of the scarves Garrett had worn on the set as Hawke, a bright red one, and it had smelled like him for two weeks before the scent faded and Anders was left with an empty stretch of red cloth. 

Embarrassing. Worth it, but incredibly embarrassing.

He’d hidden it at the bottom of a drawer, unable to give it up entirely.

A heavy hand patted him on the shoulder as Varric smiled at him. Writer, director, occasionally unwelcome tagalong, as he so often introduced himself. “Good to see you, Blondie! What was it this time? Charity dinner gone late?”

“No,” Anders turned to him sharply, snapped from his admiration of Garrett’s exposed biceps. “I was volunteering at a shelter. Lost track of time.”

“You’re always doing that,” Isabela smirked from across the table, “I’ve been thinking we should chip in for a watch that buzzes you when you’re off in a daze.” She lowered her hand below the table to do- Something that made Merrill giggle. “Worked for Kitten, here.”

Carver just rolled his eyes at the two women, cheeks turning unusually red from Merrill’s other side. He squirreled that information away for a later date

Anders sniffed, pouring a glass of water from the pitcher at the center of the table. “I don’t need a-“

“You were missing the most riveting tale,” Fenris curled over his beer, hood drawn up over pale white hair. Never understood how it could be that color naturally; it took Anders months to realize it wasn’t a wig. The rest of them could blend into the crowd well enough, with varying levels of actually wanting to (particularly when it came to Garrett), but Fenris always managed to draw a crowd unless he hid like a sullen teenager. “Garrett made the wise decision to rake the depths of the internet again.”

Anders winced. Critics and so-called fans hadn’t been kind to him over the years, saying he’d lost his luster as soon as he’d turned thirty and escaped from under the yoke of his fucking agent and dragging him through the coals for daring to get angry when the press violated his privacy or Meredith his restraining order. 

“You wouldn’t believe what they’re saying about me!” Garrett beamed, patting Anders on the shoulder as though he could read his thoughts and his need for comfort and- Anders’ cheeks were almost certainly pink again. 

“I thought that site was for _Hawke_ , the character,” Merrill tilted her head to the side, looking puzzled. “Or did I misunderstand?”

“Well, yeah, I mean, it _is_ about Hawke-“ Garrett shrugged, taking a long pull from his glass, “but there’s no Hawke without me. When people think of his-”

Fenris made a noise between a grumble and a sigh at the other end of the table.

“They’re actually thinking of mine. So.” Garrett flashed that perfect, winning smile, teeth glinting like pearls in the low light. “Let me show you.”

S-site?

 _Site_? What could possibly-

Garrett turned towards him, and why, why, _why_ did the man have to look in his direction? “They like to imagine Hawke sleeping with all of you.”

“Your _characters_ ,” Varric corrected, laughing.

“Yeah, yeah, same difference,” Garrett rolled his eyes. “Here, I’ll read you an excerpt of one.”

Merrill straightened, her grin widening, even as a muffled _‘vishante kaffas’_ was exhaled before Fenris stood. “Getting more drinks. Anyone?”

Isabela, Varric, and Hawke all raised their hands, while Anders wished he hadn’t given up alcohol years ago, nursing his water with a rising tension in his throat.

Garrett unlocked his phone, tapping a few buttons and then grinning. Bookmarked? He had the thing - whatever it was - _bookmarked_? “Ah! Here we are. This one is by my dear fan ‘spiritkitty’.”

A little whimper escaped Anders’ lips before he could clamp them together and hide behind his glass of water. 

Spiritkitty. _Spiritkitty_ ? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck _fuck_.

“I raked my hands across Hawke’s thighs,” Garrett read in a low, sultry tone that set Anders’ blood aflame, a shit-eating grin on his face, “desperate for any sort of contact with the man who had captured my heart within a few moments. Thick with corded muscle, covered in hair, tensing under my fingertips. Years. _Years_ of wishing, longing, aching. Lonely nights under the threadbare blanket, on my low cot in the corner of the clinic, where I imagined this in a thousand different scenarios, stroking myself with a fervor and pretending it was Hawke’s thick fingers around me, inside of me, my body writhing under the facsimile of his attentions only to open my eyes and find myself alone. But Hawke was here, firelight glinting in his eyes as he nipped at my lips, dragging me closer until-”

“Oh,” Merrill hummed, eyes bright and wide. “That’s _good_. Is there more?”

Garrett laughed, taking the chilled glass tha Fenris plunked down in front of him and downing half of his beer. “Oh yeah! I’ll send this one to you if you like. Spiritkitty has an encyclopedia’s worth of pining after my cock and that’s just _one author_.”

“ _Hawke’s_ ,” Anders corrected quietly, his voice a strained whisper, even though Garrett hadn’t been wrong. Send it to her. Maker’s tears, he was going to have an aneurysm. “It’s about _Hawke_.”

“Yeah,” Garrett tilted his head to the side, glancing at him curiously. “Hm. Yeah, I suppose it is.”

A very strong drink would’ve been very nice right about that moment.

* * *

Couldn’t get out of that bar quickly enough, but he’d managed to arrive home without any more horrifying revelations. Ser Pounce was nuzzling against his leg, demanding cuddles, and Anders simply hoisted him on his shoulder while he brewed a strong pot of tea, pulling out his ancient laptop with its broken screen. He really should get it fixed, or maybe even upgraded, but he’d spent most of the money from the first film paying off the debts he’d incurred from his first twenty odd years of acting, where his management company had taken every meager cent he’d made and asked for more.

Didn’t matter. There was a _sequel_ and he was, for the first time in his life, out of debt. Out from Meredith’s yoke. Free. A free agent with a contract on a successful franchise. He might finally _make_ it. They’d start shooting in a few months. Everyone back in Kirkwall, filming on set. Something even _bigger_ , this time, from little what they’d been told.

Pounce mewled and Anders plopped him on his lap, rubbing behind the cat’s ears just where he liked it until he lifted his chin and gazed up at him with those wide green eyes of his. “We’re going on a trip, soon, Pouncey,” Anders hummed while his laptop loaded. The cat seemed to acknowledge his words, swatting at his hand. Poor little guy hated to travel; avoided Anders for a day afterwards every time, but he was a good enough sport. They weren’t supposed to have pets in the studio-provided housing, but Anders made sure it was in his contract as soon as he got out from Meredith’s claws. He would not bloody well give up his cat again, not for any length of time. His studio in Kirkwall was far less lonely with Pounce prowling about.

Kirkwall. Garrett. _Hawke_. 

Finally the damned screen loaded and Anders opened a new private browser, typing the address to the fansite. 

Username: Spiritkitty

Password: S3rP0unc3al0t1:)

He hadn’t logged into the account in a few months, too busy with publicity for a documentary series he was directing on health inequity, a low budget thing that probably wouldn’t get much traction and was more a passion project than anything else. 

Three hundred comments.

Three- Anders blinked. Three _hundred_?!

He stared at the number scrolling through the page. Almost _all_ of them were from someone called ‘apostabari’ with a screenshot of Hawke flipping off the camera in full Champion regalia. 

This person had gone through everything he’d ever written and left a full fucking comment on every chapter, with winking emojis and lots of eggplants on those with anything remotely sexual. 

What the everloving fuck was going on?

He began the arduous task of responding to them all, one by one, reading the notes and silently accepting the praise. Apostabari didn’t just comment on the porn, though he certainly read those too. On the AU he’d written where Hawke was forced to kill Anders’ character because of the progression of the Taint, the user gave a passionate thesis on why Hawke would never, along with a gif of someone sobbing in the shower and HOW COULD YOU in all caps.

It was sweet and it warmed him to his toes to know that someone cared so much for his onscreen portrayal that they- They read his works, _all_ of them, and took the time to comment on them.

It took him three days to get through them all. He’d saved quite a few with praise that had brought him to tears on his phone for days where he needed the encouragement. So kind of someone to go to the trouble to thank him for his labor of love. 

And it _was_ love, as much as Anders hated to admit it. Unrequited, for Hawke as well as the man who played him. Kind and gentle and proud and caring- The passage Garrett had read at the Hanged Man hadn’t been far off. Plenty of nights, he touched himself, imagining Garrett’s lips on him, his fingers in him, kissing him and caressing him or pounding him relentlessly until Anders saw stars and cried out in ecstasy. Instead of lovers’ whispers, the only sound in his flat was the nearby traffic and Pounce’s snoring.

Ah, well. Matters could always be worse.

* * *

Kirkwall was bursting with life. Maybe not the kind most people wanted to be reminded of- Red light districts and impoverished children, but life nonetheless, shouting and cackling from every corner. His pleasant exchanges with Aspostabari had helped the months pass more quickly until he and Pounce had boarded a plane to the Free Marches to begin shooting again. There was something wonderfully relieving about flirting with an anonymous stranger. 

_Apostabari: Looking forward to the next chapter. Would it kill you to let Hawke finally get laid?_

_Spiritkitty: No spoilers. Not even for you. ;)_

With the little icon in the corner, he could pretend his secret admirer _was_ Garrett, grinning in his Champion’s armor in between takes, a triple espresso in his hand, sitting in the chair emblazoned ‘Hawke’, winking at him from across the set. He winked at everyone. But Apostabari- He seemed to want Anders nearly as much as Anders wanted Garrett. Or… Anders’ _character_. Which was, as Hawke said, practically the same-

His phone buzzed on the vanity of his dressing room. Garrett, next to an emoji of a dragon. Anders sighed, scrubbing a hand through the thick scruff on his chin.

_G: Help me get with my costume? Stylist ran off._

Anders swallowed. He couldn’t- He couldn’t say _‘no’_ could he? To- Oh, the thought of running his hands along Garrett’s body, buckling his pauldrons on, lacing his greaves, his cheek so close to Garrett’s skin that he could breathe in deeply and- Anders shivered. Nope. He couldn’t say no, even if it was stupid, even if it would make him feel things he had no right feeling. He buckled the last clasps of his robe. Best to have on as many layers as possible, so that there weren’t any… unwanted protrusions.

“What is it you-” Anders stopped in the doorway to Garrett’s dressing room, pinned in place by the way Garrett’s eyes raked across his body. They’d both been through costume and makeup; Hawke was in his full set of Champion’s armor, his staff leaning against the vanity, spiked pauldrons on his right shoulder, fist covered in a sharp metal gauntlet. Cinched and belted and buckled in tight, his right bicep exposed and bulging. 

Gods and monsters, he was beautiful, and Anders already felt himself straining against the thin tights he wore underneath his black-dyed robe.

“Were you going to finish that question?” Garrett grinned at him, tongue dabbing at his bottom lip. 

“W-what?” Anders blinked, closing the door behind him, trying to keep his voice and hands and everything else from shaking from barely suppressed need. “Oh. Yes. You said you needed help with your costume.”

“Getting it off,” Garrett winked and Anders’ heart stuttered. “Yeah. I could use some help with that. If you want.” He raised a brow, smirking. “Spiritkitty.”

“S- _What_?” Anders felt the air rush from his lungs as the word. “No, you don’t have any idea what you’re talking about! I’ve never written anything about-”

“Surprised you even recognize that name!” Garrett chuckled, scrubbing a hand through his beard. “It’s been months since we’ve talked about it. And of course you haven’t written anything about _me_. You wrote about Hawke. Right?”

He tried to swallow, but Anders’ mouth was dry. “I didn’t-”  
“You referenced at least three different scenes that were cut from the movie.” Garrett extended his hand. “Was a bit tipsy when I made my name. ‘Apostabari’ doesn’t hold up when sober, really, but what can you do?”

“You’re-” Anders was going to faint. He was going to fall over and crash to the ground, felt his knees begin to buckle, but Hawke’s arms were around him in a moment, lifting him like a ragdoll into his arms and setting him down on the little couch. 

“Easy, there,” Garrett smiled, the smear of paint across his nose crinkling as he dropped down to Anders’ side. “Sorry. I had thought you suspected- If I’d known you’d pass out, I’d have had you sit for my grand reveal.”

“You’re-”

“Yeah. Yeah. I am.” Garrett laughed, tilting his head to the side. “Is it just-” He pressed his lips together. “Is it just Hawke? Or…”

Anders’ pulse thrummed an unsteady tempo, his hands suddenly growing damp. “No,” he whispered, peering up into Garrett’s eyes. “No of course not. You said it right before. You _are_ Hawke and Hawke is you. Can’t well have Hawke without Garrett. I’ve-” He hated the low, mournful whine in his voice. “I’ve spent so long, waiting, _aching_ for you that I think I’ve forgotten what I intended to do once- Once-”  
Garrett cupped his cheek, slipping his gauntlet off of his arm and tossing it aside. “It’s alright. You were pretty clear in those- what- twelve novels you wrote about me?” The words were warm puffs of air against Anders’ skin, their noses nearly touching, every inch of his skin buzzing with energy. “It’s alright. Though, I’m not sure what you were waiting _for_.”

“I-” Anders laughed, a thin, strained little sound. “I don’t really know. Couldn’t say.”  
“You don’t have to say anything,” Garrett murmured, hand slipping behind Anders’ neck, drawing him closer. “You don’t-” He breathed once, a ragged inhale. “Anders,” Garrett sighed, his lips brushing Anders’ on the consonants.

It was too much. Anders dragged him close, a whimper escaping his lips as he bent to taste the lips he’d dreamed and fantasized and described a thousand, thousand ways. Nothing. Nothing had been right. Nothing could compare to the feel of him, chapped and smelling of spearmint and coffee and- Anders pressed Garrett back against the couch, climbing on top of him, desperate. 

Hawke was already hard, a thick line of heat causing the leather to peak slightly over his length. Maker’s tears, he was thick and hard and-

“Do you like what you see?” Garrett grinned, raking his teeth across Anders’ neck, hands sliding down to grip his waist, fumbling with the buckles of Anders’ robe. “You might be surprised to learn that there’s _more_ under all this metal!”

“Wonder of wonders,” Anders whispered, smirking down at him as Garrett untied the ribbon from his hair, his blond locks falling across his shoulders. “Why didn’t _you_ say anything?”

“I thought it was part of a game,” Garrett shrugged, “playing coy.” He found the hidden clasps on Anders’ robe, undoing them one by one, then unhooking the chain from around his neck. Garrett smoothed his hands over Anders’ shoulders and the robe pooled around Anders’ waist, leaving him with nothing to hide but the undershirt and thin tights. “Seems you had more underneath, too.” He tugged off Anders’ shirt, tossing it aside, and his massive hands slipped underneath Anders’ tights, baring him to the thigh. Anders let out an embarrassed chuckle. “No boxers?”

“Nn-no,” Anders stammered, his cock jutting straight out, already beading at the tip as he dragged at Hawke’s laces. “Ruins the lines, apparently.”

“Yeah, yeah, the others say the same thing.”

Anders’ breath caught. “Have you- With-”

“No!” Garrett laughed, shaking his head. “One of the nights you were running late we were talking about the worst parts of shooting. Isabela swears everyone on set has seen her-”

“Ah,” Anders sighed, relieved, catching Garrett’s lips to keep him from talking about Isabela’s crotch. A worthy one, he was certain, but not on the menu at the moment. Not with Garrett here, below him, hard as a rock, with a smoldering _look_ that made Anders’ heart stammer.

Finally, blessedly, Anders had released him from the leather’s hold, pulling Garrett’s length from underneath the thin fabric of his boxers. He gave himself a beat to admire Garrett’s thick, velvet-soft cock. Of _course_ Garrett would have a bloody massive member. Anders almost laughed with pleasure, before he bent to taste him. 

Salty brine, sticky and delightful. Anders lapped at him like a kitten, humming his pleasure along Garrett’s length as he flattened his tongue and delved deeper, inhaling deeply through his nose as he swallowed him to the hilt, burying his nose in the thick, coarse hair at the base of the man’s shaft. Beautiful. Every inch, from top to toes, and this was no different. Anders bobbed around him, Garrett’s fingers tangling in his hair, tugging, helping him to find the pace that made him moan and grunt and roll his hips into the back of Anders’ throat. 

“I’ve dreamed-” Garrett groaned, “that you might-”

“Hmm?” Stuffed full of Garrett’s cock. Not the best time for confessions. Or… perhaps it was absolutely the best time.

“I’ve wanted- I want this-”

Anders grinned, releasing him with a soft pop and catching his lips. “I have too, love,” he whispered, Garrett rolling his tongue across Anders’ bottom lip, tasting himself. “Every night for three years.”  
“You’ve lain awake, aching,” Garrett murmured, nipping lightly at his chin. “I know. You’ve written that line about a hundred times.”

“Have I?”

“Mmhmm,” Garrett whispered. “Do you recall chapter nineteen of ‘The Healer of Darktown’?” 

“I-” He pressed his lips together. “What happened in that one, precisely?”

“I’ll show you,” Garrett lifted him, flipping Anders onto his back on the couch with a grunt, crossing to the vanity to grab something off the shelf. “I’ll show you, Anders.”  
“I love it when you say my name, love,” he admitted as armor clanked onto the floor and there was the crinkle of some sort of plastic and a squirting noise. 

Garrett returned to him, rubbing his hands together to warm them, slick and squelching. “Do you want-”

“Was that the one in the clinic storeroom?”

Garrett grinned, nodding. 

“Then yes. Yes. Gods, I’ve been wondering what you might feel like-”  
“Let’s see if you were right.”

* * *

He wasn’t. Not entirely, in any case. Words couldn’t capture the sheer spellbinding ecstasy of Garrett’s finger sliding into him, his body flexing around him. Large, sure, but remarkably dexterous and eye-wateringly gentle. A second finger quickly joined the first, Anders riding his hand at an eager clip, arms braced against the armrest of the couch. Curling inside of him, hitting that spot that- “Fuck,” he breathed, throwing his arm over his eyes. “Fuck Garrett, you’re going to make me-”  
Garrett laughed, pulling Anders’ arm away from his face, his fingers slipping out, Anders nearly crying from the sudden lack of pressure. “Not yet,” he whispered. “Storage room, remember?”

“You don’t have an alchemy bench, though,” Anders whined, already missing Garrett’s fingers. 

“I have a vanity.” He kissed Anders sloppily, dragging him up from the couch and helping him walk towards the counter encircled by soft, low lights, his own knees untrustworthy at the moment. “Would you like to watch me fuck you?”

A low whine was all Anders could manage as he held onto the counter, Garrett coating himself in lube and standing behind him.

“Yes?” He was asked again, Garrett lifting a brow to peer at him.  
Anders turned to meet his gaze, fire in his veins. “If you don’t, I might well fall to the ground and cry.”

“Can’t have that,” Garrett chuckled, wrapping an arm around Anders, spreading his cheeks and pressing against his entrance, hot and dripping.

Anders rocked against him, Garrett holding tightly to his hips. He let out a whimper. He needed more. More pressure. More _him_. “Garrett,” he sighed, staring at his reflection in the mirror. Rosy cheeked, with a needy grimace, hair already sticking to the sweat on his brow. “Garrett, please-”

“Patience,” Garrett grumbled, sliding further into him. Not enough. Not enough. Never enough. Stretched and tight and filled, and still never enough. He left again and Anders groaned, fingers flexing against linoleum. Driving deeper, but with an agonizing pace that drove Anders insane.

“Please- Please, Garrett, I’ve ached- Let me-”

“I’m almost-” With another thrust he was fully seated and Anders howled in exaltation as Garrett’s hands loosened on his waist. He bucked against him, rocking, rolling his hips, as Garrett took Anders between his fingers, stroking him to match the pace. Furious. Frantic. Unhinged. He turned his head to catch Garrett’s lips with his own, drinking him deeply as he was pressed to the counter, taking and taking and taking-

Garrett’s eyes were half-lidded, a grin crossing his lips. Neither of them were quiet, whooping and groaning on Garrett’s end, begging and whimpering on his own. Sweat dripped down his bare back, catching where their bodies met. The slick slapping of their bodies, an underlying percussion to it all. Pressure building between them, Garrett growling as he shoved Anders against the countertop, fucking him furiously, on and on, until he wasn’t certain he could take a moment more.

Garrett buckled, crying out his name, spilling inside of him, a thousand wishes and wants and- 

Anders closed his eyes, cresting and falling in rapid succession, his muscles tightening around Garrett’s still throbbing length until he collapsed against the vanity, caught in Garrett's arms.

* * *

They laughed and kissed through dressing again, trying to wipe off stains and sweat from their costumes; gods, hair and makeup was going to _kill_ them both, but Garrett was smiling and kissing his fingers and-

“So,” Garrett murmured, a low, heady whisper, resting his cheek to Anders’ shoulder. “ _Spiritkitty_? Will you tell me what happens in the next chapter?”

Anders rolled his eyes, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Was it too bold? Was it- “I _think_ Hawke would do well to ask his healer out on a date. Don’t you?”

“Yes,” Garrett’s beard scratched against the pale skin of his neck. “I do, indeed. So long as we aren’t murdered for ruining our makeup. Friday, barring dismemberment?”

Anders smiled, nuzzling against his cheek. Maker’s tears, he might’ve cried, if he could feel anything other than overwhelming joy. “I think Friday sounds excellent.”


End file.
